


Yellow

by Str4y



Series: Broken [3]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Blood and Gore, Broken Bones, Camboy!Minho, Camming, Character Death, Crying, Depression, Emotional Manipulation, Heavy Angst, Humiliation, I'm Going to Hell, Implied Necrophilia, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Murder, Oral Sex, Pain, Please Don't Hate Me, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sequel, Smut, Stuttering, Trauma, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 13:37:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18993700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Str4y/pseuds/Str4y
Summary: Things weren’t so bad anymore. Minho was healthy. He was happier, sort of. Jisung wasn’t that bad. He wasn’t that bad anymore at all. He didn’t hit or hurt him. He fed him and fucked him well enough. Minho was okay. For sure.Except he wasn’t. None of this would be okay. Changbin shouldn’t have called. Minho shouldn’t have told him the truth. He should have ran away from Jisung. He shouldn’t have stayed.Minho wasn’t okay.Part 3 to Innocence/Chime





	Yellow

**Author's Note:**

> For this fic I am not fucking around when I say turn back if you haven’t read the tags. Don’t read this if any of those things sound triggering to you. This is a train wreck and it’s not supposed to be cute. It’s pure trauma and pain and I don’t want this to come across as anything but that. Don’t read if you didn’t read the tags. You’ve been warned. 
> 
> This is the worst of the three. Please listen to my warnings. 
> 
>  
> 
> D I S C L A I M E R
> 
> \- I don’t agree with this shit at all. What happens in this fic is awful and in no way am I romanticizing or excusing it.
> 
> \- This is fiction. Pure fiction.
> 
> \- Do not read this if you are triggered by any of the tags. I think I’ve tagged everything properly so please take that in mind.

Minho can’t see his ribs anymore. He can’t see how sunken his face used to be. In fact he was sure his cheeks were almost as puffy as Jisungs. And his hand. It didn’t hurt anymore. Yeah, he couldn’t move his ring finger very well. And his middle was probably permanently fucked. And yeah, he needed to always have his index and middle bandaged together but at least it didn’t hurt. Wrist...Minho didn’t like to think about his wrist. It was fucked, how jisung had healed Minho. He was solely responsible for Minho still being alive. If Jisung had left him that night, he would have been dead within that same week. 

But Han Jisung wasn’t his savior. No. He wasn’t in love with him. Jisung was nothing but filth to Minho. Though his brain had been fogged from the intoxication and hunger for so long — he did not love him. He never would. Minho had always seen stories about people falling in love with their captors and how much easier it would have been if he truly had loved Jisung. But he didn’t. Minho was apart of the many who hadn’t fallen for their assailant. God. Thinking about it made his stomach churn in the worst of ways. 

Minho took a deep breath as the water smacked his back, wincing at the scratches Jisung had left there. He wasn’t sure why he was still sleeping with him. Within a month of Jisung being around he’d gotten softer with Minho. He stopped hurting him. He was treating him like a king and Minho didn’t know why. Jisung was vile. Jisung didn’t care about anyone but himself. So why was Minho so precious to him? Minho wouldn’t ask. In a way he really was terrified of what Jisung would do if Minho ever turned on him — though it had definitely passed his mind. Turning on Jisung. It would be sweet. A sweet revenge that would crush Jisung to pieces. But no. Minho wasn’t like that. Minho was soft and sweet despite everything. He was harmless. Even if Jisung was the devil he’d never hurt him, no matter how much he wanted the younger to suffer. He pitied Jisung. 

The water was hot. Not too hot, but hot. Jisung hated when Minho showered with him. Minho would whine until the water was set to his liking — and for some reason Jisung never fought him. It had been months since Jisung had hit him. Months since Jisung had forced himself on—

Minhos phone was ringing. He could hear it as the water smacked his cheeks. Maybe he should answer. Maybe he shouldn’t. Chances were it was his mother again. Jisung wouldn't be calling right now. Minhos mom — she was different. Minho knew she was worried. She was so concerned and Minho couldn’t manage to tell her the whole truth. He’d even told her that he was seeing Jisung often and she panicked. After that he hadn’t talked to her much. He knew she was just trying to protect him but...it wasn’t her problem. Jisung was his problem. 

Ring. 

Again. The phone. The phone wouldn’t stop. Maybe it wasn’t his mom. She usually only rang once. It wasn’t Jisung. Maybe...Hyunjin? Minho wasn’t sure he’d ever hopped out of the shower quicker. He was dripping and naked and getting his carpet soaked just for the insane thought that Hyunjin could have been calling. It was another sick thing. To want Hyunjin to call. He hated Hyunjin. He did. He couldn’t forgive someone for what Hyunjin had put him through. But it had been months. Months since he heard from Hyunjin. And he knew Jisung wasn’t seeing him. Jisung told him multiple times to forget about Hyunjin but—

“Hello?” Minho sounded so stuttery and shaky. He hated how wild he sounded. All for someone who he hadn’t expected. 

“Hey Min.”

He should have hung up. He should have hung up. 

“Changbin?”

“Yes...do you not read your caller ID? Jesus, Min. You sound terrible.” 

There was panic in Changbins voice. Changbin. They were so close. Kind of. Forever ago. Best friends before he met Hyunjin. They grew up together. Had spent their summers at each other’s houses or camps. Changbin was such an old friend. A friend that he’d parted ways with a long time ago. Not that they wanted to. Changbin just moved to America for some school opportunity and they lost touch. Changbin. 

“Minho?”

“Yeah?” Minho cleared, slinking his pink blanket around himself before laying down onto his bed. His sheets would definitely get soaked but he couldn’t care less right now. 

“Are you okay?”

It had been so long since he’d heard his friends voice. And a decade since he’d heard his childhood friend be this concerned. “I’m fine?” Minho spoke clearly, wiping wet hair off of his forehead and slicking it back. “It’s been a long time—“

“Are you lying to me right now?”

The concern. Suddenly Minhos heart raced. He hadn’t honestly taken into consideration that maybe his mother asked Changbin to reach out to Minho. This must have been her. “No. Changbin did my mom ask you to—“

“No. I saw the fucking video.”

He hung up. He hung up and he threw his phone. He hung up, threw his phone and rolled over to face the wall. His breaths were loud and suddenly he felt anxious and angry all at once. No. He did not. What video. What. The phone was ringing again. No. Stop. Minho whined to himself before encasing himself in his blanket, curling up into a fetal position. Maybe if he let it ring it’d stop. Maybe it would stop. 

Minho probably had a dozen missed calls. But eventually he’d just drowned them out with his own sobbing. Eventually the calls stopped and he could breathe again. He needed to silence his phone after that. He hadn’t felt so terrified since the day he’d finally come to his senses about Jisung. Maybe this was worse. He knew Jisung was awful. He always did. Jisung wasn’t unexpected. Or a wildcard anymore. Changbin—he was. Changbin, someone who’d always seen Minho in this positive light, had seen him at his lowest. He knew what video it was the second it left the younger man’s lips. The video. The one where they showed his face. The one where they ripped him apart and destroyed him from the inside out. The video that his mother had avoided ever watching despite being bombarded with it for months on her private social media’s. The video. 

“Breathe.” He whispered to himself, sliding the blanket from his face, the sudden change in light causing him to whine again. His eyes stung and he wanted to rush into the shower again. Maybe burning his face with water would help stop the stinging in his chest. 

It took him a good fifteen minutes, but he got up. He went to his dresser, slid on a pair of blue panties and one of Jisungs hoodies before collapsing onto his desk chair, running fingers through his drying mess of hair that he was sure had knotted from being under his blanket. Maybe a show would help. Anything. Something. 

No. Maybe not. His door clicked and he tensed. He knew who it was, but it never felt easier. One day his door wouldn’t open. There would be nobody there. It would be—

“Hey baby.” The voice echoed against the shut bedroom door, the sound of something smacking the counter along with keys. He must have brought food. 

Minho didn’t reply. He simply pulled himself out of his chair, letting Jisungs hoodie cover his hands before making his way into the main room, the familiar man shuffling through a large white bag. 

“You look so cute, what the fuck?” He smirked, eyes locking with Minhos. He could feel his anxiety rise. “Did you fall asleep after showering again?” The man sigh heavily before approaching Minho, wrapping his arms around his back and pulling him into a comfortable hug. “I told you to stop doing that. You’re gonna get sick.”

He hated the false concern. He hated it so much. “I’m sorry, Sungie.” Why had he started calling him that. Jisung didn’t deserve that. 

“Awww,” Jisung ran his fingers through Minhos matted hair, nuzzling into Minhos shoulder, “seriously stop doing that.”

There was no warning in his voice. But Minho still took it that way. He had no reason to believe Jisung didn’t want to still harm him. Despite everything. He didn’t and would never believe that Jisung wanted to be with him in any way. Minho was just a toy. He’d throw him away eventually. It terrified him. 

“What did y-you bring?” Minho whispered against the warmth, pulling himself away to look towards the white bag at the counter instead. Distractions. He needed it. 

“Chinese take-out. I figured we haven’t had any in awhile.” Chinese. That was nice. “Let's get you some pants before you freeze to death.”

It was winter now, wasn’t it. It was cold again. Jesus Christ Minho couldn’t even feel how cold it was. He was so numb. Everyday he was so numb. 

“Okay.”

Jisung got him into some fuzzy cat-covered pajama pants he’d picked up for him. He wasn’t sure why Jisung had been so fucking nice to him after what he’d done. Not even a week after breaking into Minhos home and—he couldn’t even process what had happened. He should have called someone. He shouldn’t have allowed this. 

“Min, I need you to raise those cute arms so I can put this thermal on you.”

He did as Jisung asked, the coolness hitting his stomach as Jisung tugged the hoodie over his head, sliding a long sleeved black thermal over him instead. “See?” Jisung grinned, slipping the hoodie over Minho again and rubbing at his arms, “all warm.”

This was so unfair. If Jisung wasn’t such a fucking awful vile piece of garbage...Minho could love him. He really could. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t shake what Jisung had done to him. No matter how soft and sweet the boy had gotten with him. 

“Thanks Sungie.” Minho forced a smile, causing Jisung to gasp and press a little kiss to his nose as if Minho was the cutest thing alive. 

“Let's go eat now, yeah?”

It was grossly domestic. How Jisung just sat there talking about his day and caressing Minhos cheek and complimenting how chubby and cute he’d gotten over the last few months. Fuck. He hated him. 

“Wanna do a show tonight?” Jisung clicked his tongue. Minho couldn't even say no. Saying no could mean the vile Jisung would pop out. Maybe. He had never tried. 

“Sure.” Minho even smiled, nuzzling into Jisungs hand like there was nothing wrong. “What should we do?” Why did he play the game. 

“Can I show your face?”

If there was one thing Minho was proud of, it was his reluctance to show his face. Jisung asked every blue moon. Minho would never comply. And Jisung never fought back. 

“I’d p-prefer not to.” Minho whispered, noticing how Jisungs smile turned into a pout. “The anonymity. Is…” he paused, always keeping a close eye on Jisungs eyes, “I like it.”

“Fine.” Jisung sighed, letting his hand fall from Minhos face before taking a much too large scoop of food, piling it into his own mouth and filling those cheeks. Minho hated how cute Jisung could be. He fucking hated him. “Can I show them your tummy?”

Minho tensed again, picking up his set of chopsticks, “I mean that’s okay...a lot of my fans like that my abs have disappeared. They think it’s cute.”

“I think it’s cute.” 

He hated Jisung. 

Everything went as it always did. Minho turned on the camera, greeted the fans, ran his good hand down his stomach. He had to always keep himself from getting emotional over the few worried fans. They were so endearing and they just wanted him to be okay. They always noticed his bandages. They knew he wasn’t okay. But in a way Minho didn’t care about their concerns. They were faking it too. 

Jisungs hand shot into the frame, slinking down Minhos chest. He sighed pleasantly, letting his head rest back against Jisung. Jisung thankfully stayed quiet for his shows. At first he was annoying and wouldn’t shut up about how hot Minho was. It was a turn off for some people. He was glad Jisung had realized and shut up. 

Minho shuddered as Jisungs fingers stopped at his nipple, squeezing the bud between his fingers. He swore Jisung was about to open his mouth to speak but instead the younger just let out a soft sigh. It felt nice. He’d always pretend it was someone else. It made things feel better. If he didn’t he’d feel sick. He might throw up. In one of his first streams with Jisung he’d vomited on camera. Luckily his mask took the blow but god it was the most disgusting thing. Jisung told the fans he was sick but that prick knew. He knew he’d caused it. His vile presence. 

He shuddered again, hand flying up to grab Jisungs hand as he arched his back in his chair, breaths loud and wanting. Pretend it’s someone else. He repeated that a million times. If it was someone else he was always okay. 

“Holy shit.” Jisung exclaimed, hand slipping from Minhos chest causing the elder to whine into his little mask. “M-Lee Know do you see this?” Jisung was reaching over, hand at the mouse as he frantically scrolled through the golden wall of tips. 

Minho arched his brow, leaning in to see the wall before Jisung halted, highlighting over—no fucking way. 

Minho remembered it well. How Jisung asked that one night for a large tip to see Minhos face. Turns out the tip was small. It wasn’t large at all. Jisung tricked Minho in the harshest of ways. But once Jisung saw it he wanted to show his face. He wanted his audience to see how slack his jaw had become. 

Five thousand coins. 

Minho couldn’t believe the zeros. He glanced to the screen name, spearB. He had no clue what kind of kink that was in relation to, but spearB suddenly owned his ass. He really gave him that much money. Minho would have rent for months. He could buy so many nice things. He could — 

“What do you want for that tip?” Jisung breathed out, mouth agape. Yeah. Jisung would get a lump of that, too. He had to. If he appeared the proceeds had to be split. That’s what Jisung had told him when they started doing this. Minho refused to fight over it. It was fair in a sick way. 

“What?”

“What?” Minho whispered as Jisungs face twisted, he must have seen the reply despite the dozen other comments burying it. 

“They want to talk to you privately. Without me looking.”

“Ah...is that okay?” Minho asked, gazing up to Jisung with wide eyes that must have gotten to Jisung. 

“Shit for that much, sure. I’ll just turn. See.” He turned, visibly on camera. Chances were Jisung wouldn’t glance at all. Jisung didn’t lie on camera, and fans had grown to like him. Well, most of them. There were still many who thought that Jisung was bad and holding Minho captive. In a way they weren’t wrong. 

Minho waited a moment, telling the person to go ahead and say what they wanted. Maybe they didn’t want anything. But then it appeared. 

SpearB: please call me - SCB 

He swallowed hard. Suddenly he felt hot. He ran so hot. He turned away, angling the webcam down a bit to focus on his chest. No. Changbin was watching. Seo ChangBin. SCB. No no no. He didn’t want him to watch. He didn’t want him to see him like this. Why was binnie watching him?

Jisung turned then, noticing the angle had changed before leaning down, nibbling against Minhos ear before whispering so low he wanted to cry, “what did they say?”

“Nothing. It was a donation.” He managed out, turning to drop his mask to press his lips to Jisungs. The camera was angled down. They couldn’t see. They could just hear. 

Jisung seemed a little taken aback but pressed himself down into the kiss, sliding his hands down Minhos chest as he lowered himself down more, slipping his tongue into Minhos warm mouth. Kissing Jisung wasn’t too bad. Again, he could just picture someone else. Like a distraction. Which this totally was. The last thing Minho wanted was for changbin to yell in the chat and cause jisung to panic. He didn’t want Jisung to hurt him. Or hurt Changbin. 

“Mmh, Lee Know you’re ignoring your baby. They keep leaving you little requests.” Jisung spoke after awhile, moving himself to crouch down besides Minho, resting his chin at the desk and in clear view of the camera. Jisung never cared about showing up on Minhos cam. It should have bothered Minho but it didn’t. Everyone knew what he looked like now. There were forums on the site of his real face and his own photos of selfies spread around. Everyone knew. 

Minho wasn’t sure how much longer the stream was before he finally said goodbye. He was tired. But Jisung wasn’t. Jisung loved streaming with him. Of course. 

 

“Jesus baby…”

Jisungs voice echoed. It bounced off the walls. It mixed with the squelching noises and the sound of the headboard slamming into the wall. Minho had to remind himself that Jisung was bad everytime they did this. He wasn’t good. He broke his hand. He ra—god he couldn’t even think of that word. He couldn’t do it. If he did he’d start sobbing and Jisung would panic and he’d have to—Stop. Minho had to stop. 

“You’re so tight. It’s only been a week,” he moaned out, fists balled into Minhos hair as he smacked his hips against Minho in steady rhythm, the background filled with moans and some track from The Killers that he’d never heard. 

A week. It didn’t feel like a week. It felt like hours since he’d last been fucked. He was always numb. He was sure that wasn’t a good thing. He shouldn’t always feel numb and tingly. It wasn’t natural. Right? 

Jisung let out a strained cry that told Minho he’d come. He always came first. Even though Jisungs hand was wrapped and working Minhos length it took him forever to release. He figured it was because of how much his body had grown to despise Jisungs touch. He was so happy that his body agreed with him after that horrifying night. His body was uninterested after Jisung broke into his house. But he always worked himself up. Always put on a show. 

He felt Jisung collapse over him, cool breath smacking his neck and sending goosebumps down his back. Jisungs stressed, fucked out breaths were nice. The more fucked the better. It meant Jisung was satisfied enough to leave him alone. It took Jisung a moment to compose himself before rolling into the bed, shakily wrapping a leg over Minhos legs, “did you?”

He didn’t. Not yet. But he didn’t want to say anything. Jisung didn’t care anyways. He just nodded, nuzzling himself into Jisungs shoulder to shut him up. Jisung patted through Minhos hair, eyes fluttering shut. He’d end up passing out. But that was fine. That gave Minho time to go to the bathroom, clean up and vomit his lunch. 

He really needed to stop. He wasn’t sure how. But it was too much. Yeah, Jisung wasn’t that bad anymore. Never hit him. Never yelled. Never got scary. But that was worse in a way. Jisung was too comfortable and Minho was terrified he’d never leave. Minho gripped the bowl of the toilet, wiping his mouth against his bare arm. His eyes were of course fucking strained with his tears. And he had to bite down on his palm to conceal his stupid noises. He hated this. He hated how this was so normal for him. He was trapped. 

True next day was better. Jisung had left and gone off to work or wherever he went during the day. Minho didn’t really care as long as he was gone. It gave him time to relax on his own. Minho still didn’t leave the apartment. He knew he was super pale from staying inside all summer. And now that it was cold his chances of getting color were slim. 

Minho sighed, staring at the ceiling as he lay at his small couch, legs dangling off the arm rest at the knee. He was thinking about yesterday. About the tip. About Changbin. Maybe he should call. Jisung wasn’t coming by today. Usually when Jisung got his fill he’d be gone a few days. After last night he was sure Jisung would be good for at least the weekend. Definitely. 

After much thought he rose himself up, grabbing his phone and scrolling through his missed calls. Twenty from his mom. Three from scams...changbin. He huffed before clicking the boys name. He didn’t have a photo set. Fuck, he hadn’t seen him since they were kids. Who knew what that pointy chinned kid looked like now. His voice had gotten so low though. It was hot—Minho Stop. Don’t think of him that way. Minho growled at his dumb thoughts before resting his finger over the phone icon. Should he...should he see his face? After another moment he clicked the FaceTime logo, resting himself up comfortably in the couch, his face filling the screen. He looked decent, pretty eyes, cheeks full and healthy. He looked healthy. And good. Presentable. Pretty. He looked so pretty. 

It didn’t take long before the screen filled with a black face mask and familiar eyes. Outside. Changbin was outside. The sun looked nice. He looked so cold, though. 

“Minho?” Changbin sounded so uncertain, voice so low and deep. So different from when they were younger. 

“Hey, sorry about yesterday.” The best thing about Changbin, was that Minho didn’t stutter with him. He felt so comfortable with Changbin even after all these years, “I was sick.” He lied. 

Changbins eyes shot around before the lighting changed. He was inside now. Where, he wasn’t sure. “It’s okay. I’m glad you called me. I’m glad you...you look alright.” Minho had nearly forgotten Changbin watched his show last night. 

“I’m perfectly fine.” Minho laughed, making sure his smile reached his eyes, “long time no see.”

Changbin stopped moving, seeming to settle down somewhere, laying the phone down at a table maybe? “That’s good to hear. I was so worried when…” he trailed off, gaze falling to the table, “I didn’t want to watch it. Someone from our old camp sent it to me and I asked why and they said it was you. I freaked out and had to call you. But...I guess it’s just what you’re into?” He sounded like he was lying to himself. He knew there was more to it. 

“I’m surprised you actually watched it.” Minho moved his legs to the couch now, resting his face at his knees, “sorry to worry you.” He needed to change the subject, “how’ve you been?”

Changbins eyes shot back into view of the camera, “I’ve been alright. I’m back in Korea.”

Minhos body tensed, “oh? Since when?”

“It’s been a few weeks I guess. I’ve been staying with my parents. I’m going back to America in a month.”

“How is it there?”

“It’s not home.” Changbin laughed, adjusting himself a bit before slipping the black mask from his mouth. Ah. Changbinnie. He looked different. Definitely older. He had that chin but his cheeks had filled some. Quite the opposite of how he pictured him. He was cute. Squishy in a way. His cheeks were so much like Ji—Stop. 

“Ah your cheeks got big.”

Changbin laughed, smile so small yet so endearing, “yours too. We really let ourselves go, huh?”

“Jisung just feeds me well.” Minho regretted bringing Jisung up the minute his name left his lips. “I mean…” he let out a long sigh, “he stuffs me with take out. He’s got cheeks too, you know.”

Changbin stiffened, more of a frown crossing his features now. But it was a cute frown. Like a tiny pout. “Is he good to you?”

Was he? Lately, sure. In retrospect, no. “Yeah. He’s a sweetheart.”

“That video...Minho it looked like he was really hurting you. Did you ever watch it back? You were...Minho you were bleeding and crying. I was so worried I…” changbin let his gaze fall elsewhere. He didn’t want to see his friend cry but something inside told him he was about to. Changbin crying was always hard to watch. They’d get into so much trouble as kids. So much that Changbin would always sob loudly and open mouthed when adults scolded them. 

“I’m fine. It was just a special thing that I asked them to do with me. I’ve said it a thousand times.” He didn’t mean to snap. Not at all. He could see the wince Changbin gave. He didn’t want that. 

“I’m sorry for asking. I’m sorry for watching it, too.”

“What made you watch it?”

“My friend said it looked like you were in a lot of pain and it looked like a snuff film...I just freaked out and had to watch. I think I threw up like eight times during. I couldn’t even finish.” How far had he gotten?

“Ew binnie, you saw my dick?” Minho wanted to lighten the mood. He wanted to convince Changbin he was okay. He was fine. It was nothing. 

“Minho, he broke your hand. It’s still bandaged. That was real.”

Minho stiffened, fingers clenching subconsciously. Yeah. His hand. He broke his fingers. Three of them. Snapped them painfully. So painfully that Minho knew he’d never use his hand properly again. He’d never— “no no. I injured it before that. It was just for show. I injured my wrist a few months ago. That’s why it’s still bandaged”

“Minho. He showed everyone. Fingers don’t twist that way. Your hand was fine. Then it wasn’t.”

Minho felt the tears swelling in his eyes. This is exactly what he didn’t want. Why did he call him? Why did he let Changbin win? Why did he let people have so much power over him?

“Min...please don’t lie to me. That was real, wasn’t it? They really hurt you. They…” changbin swallowed hard, “I remember Hyunjin. From school. His face was...It was real, wasn’t it?”

Minho felt his lip quiver. His hand started to shake. Changbins face fell but before he could speak Minho hung up. He hung up and placed the phone down at the couch, burying his face into his knees. Yeah. It was real. What Hyunjin and Jisung did to him was real. It was so real that it ruined him. It destroyed him. He wanted to vomit again. 

Changbin: minho 

He glanced up from his knees, vision blurry. His stupid tears were clouding everything along with his little sobs as he watched his phone light up over and over. 

Changbin: minho please see me 

He just shook his head, biting down at his lip. 

Changbin: meet me for coffee before I leave please don’t stay with them. Meet me here I’ll be here all day. I’ll wait.

He couldn’t help but examine the link. Maybe he’d click it. Maybe. 

Changbin: Minho pls I’m gonna fking scream pls

Minho shuddered, burying his face again. He hadn’t left the house in so long. He didn’t know where anything was anymore. He didn’t know what to do or how to act. He felt like a doll. What if he got scratched? What if jisung found out? Would he hurt him again? 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been crying. He knew he’d been loud and probably sounded like he’d just gotten broken up with. He was sobbing and his head hurt. His hand hurt. His stomach hurt. He didn’t want to vomit again. He was tired of throwing up and hurting himself. He was so tired. He wanted to just disappear. He could jump out of his window. He lived high up. He’d die. He’d die. 

Minho pulled his head up, snot and tears all over Jisungs hoodie as he wiped his face. It was so gross. But he didn’t care right now. His head was spinning. Maybe. Maybe he should. Maybe he should. 

What was he doing? Why was he changing. Why was he walking out the door. Why. 

Minho shuddered, tightening his grip around the scarf he’d snatched from Jisungs side of the closet. It was so fucking cold. Maybe he hadn’t dressed warmly enough. His bones were shaking as the wind whipped his face. The mask didn’t help. The hat at his head didn’t help. God. He should have stayed inside. This was stupid. This was so dumb and he knew it. He swallowed, throat dry as he walked on, the cafe Changbin had shown him in sight. He could hear his phone going off over and over but he couldn’t be bothered to read right now. They were most likely all from Changbin. Definitely. 

Then there he was. Tapping away worriedly. Minho could see the panic through the window. He mustn’t have been paying attention to anything but the screen as Minho leaned in, eyes squinting. He looked so small. So worried. He was tapping his foot, hand through his hair. He looked miserable. Minho wished he hadn’t come. He didn’t want to go in there. He’d cry. He’d break down and he’d lose it. Why did he come. Why did he come. 

As the bell at the door chimed above he nearly vomited. That chiming sound. He heard it often, sure. But something about it in an environment he couldn’t control was scaring him. It took Minho a moment to move from the entrance, only able to move when an elderly woman came behind him. It was the push he needed. Minho was shaky but he was making his way over to the little booth in the corner steadily. Changbin hadn’t looked up from his phone, hand still tangled in his dark hair that was way fluffier than he remembered. 

“Hey.” Minhos voice seemed to startle Changbin. The younger shot up suddenly, hand over his chest as his gaze met Minhos. His cheeks were a lot fuller than he remembered, too. His eyes were still as big as ever. It was so different from seeing him on camera earlier. “I came.”

“I see that.” Changbin whispered before pushing himself up from his booth, standing now. Wow. Changbin hadn’t really grown much since he’d last seen him. It was cute. Minho was kind of in awe how the boy who’d been a little taller than him when they were younger was now looking up at him. “Can I…?” Changbin outstretched his arms nervously. 

Minho couldn’t fight the little grin that spread over his lips as he encased his arms around his friend,choking back all that nervousness to show Changbin that he was fine (he wasn’t). Changbin was expectedly warm. Just as he’d been when they were little. He must have ran hot or something. Just a warm person with a cold face. 

After moments, Changbin broke the hug, seeming to force a small smile, “it’s nice to see you…” 

“You too.”

After another moment of just staring at one another Changbin waved his hands to the booth before him, sliding back into his own. Minho took another moment before settling himself down, keeping his hands in his sleeves at his lap as he examined the man before him. Changbin. 

“I’m so glad you came, Minho.” Changbin chuckled, sigh of relief following as he scooted himself into the seat, “I was so worried about you…”

Minho blinked, feeling so tense that it was hard to speak, “Don’t be. I’m okay.”

Changbin shook his head, eyes darting down to the table, “I’m not going to force it out of you. You hung up on me for a reason.” Minho wanted to leave. He didn’t, but he wanted to. “You don’t have to lie to me. After how you sounded I...I just want to help you. Is there anything I can do?” Those dark eyes settled onto Minhos as if he was pleading. He needed to help Minho. His eyes begged. 

“I—“ he choked, coughing into his sleeve he’d finally brought up from his lap, keeping his hand covered, “can we not talk about that? We can talk about other things. Like...how you’ve been?”

Changbin offered the slightest nod before letting his gaze slip to Minhos hand, “I’ve been good. Really good, actually. America is nice.”

“That’s good. How’s your English?”

“As good as it can be.” He laughed back, keeping his gaze averted. Minho could see how anxious the younger was. “Minho,” He was so tense, “this is important. Please don’t run…”

“Binnie I can’t—“

“Blink if they're hurting you.” They. He thought it was both of them that were still hurting him. 

Minho didn’t blink. He just shook his head, folding his hands back at his lap, “I haven’t seen Hyunjin in months. Jisungs not doing anything to me.”

“Blink if you feel safe with him.”

Minho stayed still. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t feel safe, not one bit. But he wasn’t being harmed. Maybe if he asked Jisung to back off he would. Maybe. 

“I see.” Changbin huffed, resting his head back against the booth, stray black hairs sticking to the red seat from the slight static, “Min, you have to get away from him.”

“I can’t.” He shouldn’t have said that. His voice cracked. His chest was pounding. His heart hurt. This was too much and he was suddenly shaky. Overwhelmed. He could. If he wanted. He knew he could. Jisung didn’t live with him. Jisung didn’t hurt him anymore. He hadn’t since that day. If Minho wanted, he could leave. It was just...the consequences. They scared him. Terrified. 

“Yes you can.” Changbin reached over, hand with the fingerless glove outstretched. Binnie had always been into this type of fashion. Dark, chains, spikes. Despite that he was awfully sweet and cuddly. Not dark at all in personality. Minho hated it. Why couldn’t changbin care less to match his style?

Minho whimpered slightly before reaching out the injured hand. He figured that’s what Changbin wanted anyways, placing his delicate fingertips into the cool glove. Changbin seemed crushed, his own fingers curling over Minhos in a way that made Minho feel like glass. 

“We’re going to get you out of there. Have you gone to the hospital?”

Minho shook his head. 

“Do you want to?”

Minho shook his head harder, slight stinging filling his eyes. Shit. 

“Okay. We don’t have to.” Changbin whispered back, voice low and soothing, “do you want to get something to eat?”

Minho nodded this time, sucking in a deep breath before sliding his hand back into his lap, gaze at the table as he felt Changbins eyes glued to him. 

It was nice. The food. The light conversation Changbin made. It was all nice. Within a half hour Minho felt way better. At ease. He didn’t feel like puking anymore. And he’d managed to laugh some, too. Leaving was hard. He felt too comfortably as Changbin hugged him. It was familiar. 

“Be safe, please? Call me if you need me. Remember I’m here for the week. I’m not going anywhere.” He assured, rubbing at Minhos sleeves, “Seriously, call me.”

Minho kind of blurred the rest. Soon he was home again. It wasn’t overwhelming. He felt okay. Once he slugged his coat off he face planted into his bed, hugging the sheets to his chest. It felt so comfortable for once. It must’ve been the familiarity and normalcy of Changbin. He hadn’t been out in...a long while. It felt nice. 

Maybe he’d do a show. It had been awhile since he did a solo. He missed it. He missed his confidence and talking one-on-one to his ‘fans’. 

He needed it. 

“Hi everyone.” Minho used to call his fans ‘baby’ as if they were a sole person. After his fans had watched him harmed and enjoyed it, he couldn’t do that ever again. Minho felt so confident alone. As the room filled with surprised fans he couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. He felt so comfortable. Despite everything that had happened, this felt safe. Did he like his fans? Not necessarily. Not after that night. Not after that. But he loved the attention. Loved being praised and adored. It was comforting. 

Minho let his hair brush against his eyes as his fingertips of his good hand trailed down his chest to his stomach. He really thought he’d lose fans with the weight he’d put on. But they all seemed to find it even hotter. For some reason they ate it up. 

“Like my socks?” Minho whispered, voice low and soft as he slid his hand down to his thigh, gripping at the white lace trim of his thigh highs. “They’re new.” He released the lace to trail his fingertips up to his panties now, a pastel blue color. “Everything’s new.” He just hadn’t opened the packages till tonight, honestly. They weren’t new. Minho angled the camera up to expose the black mask over his chin, pastel blue collar with the little bell attached causing plenty chimes to ring through the air. It was nice. The money. That’s the only thing he was sure kept him going. 

Minho tapped the bell at his neck, a little chime ringing through to match the slew of noise coming from his fans. “Like it?” He asked with a small cat-like grin that hid underneath his mask. He wasn’t honestly sure why he wore the mask. They knew what he looked like. It was silly. “Wanna hear me purr?”

Chime chime chime. 

They ate it up. They adored him. Minho leaned in towards the camera, eyes wide and twinkling as he rolled his tongue to create little purrs. Chime. Constant little chimes filled his ears. Perfect. He pulled himself up, tilting his head to appear as innocent as possible before pushing the camera down, stomach and panties in clear view as his injured hand peeled back the lace pastel garment holding his leaking member. 

The chimes were insane as he moved his hand up his length, back constantly arching and moans ringing almost as loud as the dings at the screen. He would reach soon. Like always. He couldn’t really edge himself anymore. When he got to his breaking point he needed release otherwise he’d panic. He didn’t want to panic. 

Minho threw his head back, hair drowning his face as he came, long exasperated moan escaping his lips followed by soft purrs. God it felt so good to do this by himself. To enjoy his orgasm. It’d been awhile. He shuddered, bandaged fingers aching from the movement. One day he’d feel better. One day. 

“Thank you so much.” Minho gasped, running his fingers through his hair to get it off of his face. He felt so sticky everywhere. Honestly he just wanted to shower. “I’m going to go now. Take a shower and sleep.”

It never got easier. To see the goodnight ‘minhos’. His name was never supposed to be out there. Never. But he opted to give an eye smile, tilting the camera towards his face before wiggling his fingers to the camera, “goodnight. I love—“ he stopped and turned the camera off, leaning back into his chair. He didn’t love them. He didn’t love them. 

Minho released a steady breath before pulling himself out of his chair, tugging the thigh highs down before rushing to the shower. He thought he would feel better at the end. But he didn’t. In a way he just felt panic again. Seeing his name was awful for him. He should have seen Lee Know. Not Minho. Fuck Minho. He couldn’t help but growl to himself as he tossed the collar to the floor, running his fingers through his hair as the hot water ran down his back. He didn’t feel anything. 

He didn’t feel anything at all. Not when he got out of the shower and dressed, and not when he settled into his bed, encasing himself in his blankets. They weren’t comforting at all right now. Why wasn’t he comfortable? He was alone. He did his own show. He should’ve been happy. But he wasn’t. He didn’t understand why he wasn’t. 

His phone was ringing again. But this time it was aggravating. It was just ringing. Minho managed to roll himself over, blanket wrapped around his face as he squinted through the dark at the screen. Jisung. He didn’t expect that. He couldn’t hang up. He had to answer. 

“H-hey?” Minho whispered, phone close to his face because he really wasn’t in the mood to unravel himself from the blankets. 

“I saw your show.” Jisungs voice was so soft and low. And sexy. And Minho hated it. “It was really good. I even tipped you.” Jisung laughed, seeming to shuffle around on the other end. 

“I-it was different.” Minhos voice was hoarse. He wasn’t sure how to talk to Jisung right now. He didn’t feel good. He didn’t know what was wrong with himself. “What are you doing?”

“I just got home.” Work? He wasn’t sure where Jisung went when they weren’t together. Minho never asked. 

“Come over.” The words were acid. Pure acid. Why would Minho ever ask him to come by? Even Jisung seemed shocked by the cute little noise that came from his end. Minho felt so stupid. 

“Sure. I was just calling to say goodnight and congrats on the show but—“ he paused, voice deeper now, “I’ll be there in a little bit. See you soon Lee Know.”

See you soon. Minho felt his stomach drop. He suddenly wanted to scream and throw his phone again. What was he doing? Why was he being so self destructive? He let his phone fall to the ground as he rolled into the wall, eyes shut tight. He was stupid. 

There was maybe an hour where Minho sat in his bed, body at peace. It was nice. His blankets heated him well despite his discomfort and maybe he could have just stay like this forever if he hadn’t called him. Why did he call him? His hand was screaming for him not to. His heart, too. Everything told him to not call Jisung. But he did it anyways. He was so self destructive that he’d rather be harmed than run away. Maybe he did catch some weird dependency on Jisung. Good job, Minho. 

Minho pulled himself upright, letting the blankets fall to the bed as his lips formed an obvious pout. He could hear the door opening after the click of a key. His apartments thin walls were nice sometimes. Gave him warning when Jisung came in. After a minute of silence Minho huffed, throwing his blankets aside and sliding into the slippers besides his bed. He could hear shuffling around before his door opened, Jisung peeking through as if he wasn’t sure Minho was awake, which made sense considering his light was off. 

“Minho?”

“Y-you can flip the switch.” Minho whispered back, letting a hand slide over his eyes before the blinding light illuminated the room. 

“Did you just shower?” He heard before feeling Jisungs weight over him. He must have crawled right into Minhos lap, “you smell so good.” His voice was a lot right now. Minho sigh as Jisung pried his hand from his face, lifting Minhos chin then. “Really good.”

Jisung knew why he was here. Minho wouldn’t call him for anything else. Fuck, Minho shouldn’t be calling him period. But he kept doing it. He needed to stop. Without saying anything Minho leaned himself up, lips brushing against Jisungs. Pretend it’s someone else. He let out a softer sigh as Jisung took Minhos bottom lip suddenly, tugging it in his teeth. Someone else. 

“You’re excited, hm?” He whispered, sliding his fingers underneath of the T shirt Minho had slipped on, tugging the fabric over his head. The feeling of Jisungs cold fingers against his skin was awful in a way. It sent shivers down his spine, and he was positive he was covered in goosebumps now. 

Minho just nodded though, letting Jisung pull the shirt over his head before returning to those terrible lips, even flicking his tongue into Jisungs mouth. He tasted good. He usually did. Jisung liked to chew this winterfresh gum often. It tasted like that. Minty. Minho loved mint. Not Jisung. Mint. As his mind ran wild he felt cool fingertips sliding down his hips to slip into the band of his underwear. He hadn’t put on pants so this would be quicker. Maybe Jisung wouldn’t even pull his panties down this time. Sometimes he was impatient. Just fucked Minho with his panties torn or pushed to the side. That’d be even better.

“Say ah.” Jisung spoke then, placing a hand to minho's lips as the other made its way around Minhos hardening member. “You know the drill.” His voice was a little cold, but Minho was used to that by now. 

Minho parted his lips, Jisung shoving three fingers in deep. Minho was glad he’d gotten better at taking whatever Jisung shoved into his mouth. His fingers were long and thin but that was nothing compared to his dick. Jisung loved hearing Minhos gagging, at least that’s what Minho assumed. He paused a moment, weary as Jisung left his fingers still. Usually he’d be down his throat by now. But not this time. 

Jisung sigh pleasantly as he tightened his grip around Minhos length, head tilting to the side some. He hated how beautiful Jisung was. And he hated whatever he was planning. “You do all the work. I’m so tired.” Jisung smirked. Minho didn’t know what that meant. Maybe he’d had a bad day at work or wherever he went. 

Minho just let his eyes shut as his tongue rolled around the digits, he tasted a little different today, but Minho ignored it. The last thing he wanted was to ask why Jisungs fingers didn’t taste as they usually had. He just wanted Jisung to come and leave. He didn’t want him here any longer than he needed to be. 

As Jisungs hand moved at his length he couldn’t help but moan against Jisungs fingers, bucking his hips up into the firm grasp. Someone else. Minho kept his eyes shut as he started to nibble against the digits at his tongue, the man at his lap letting out a shaky sigh of his own. Someone else. 

“Not too hard.” Jisung warned, thumb pressing down hard against Minhos slit, causing his to arch his back and release a whiny whimper. He had to admit, it felt good. After a long time it felt really good. At first Minho was just too drunk and weak to notice. But ever since he sobered and cleaned himself up, he enjoyed it. He might enjoy it more with someone else, however. Soon. Soon he’d get away. He’d find something better. He’d be happy and safe— 

“Ahhhh!” Minho couldn’t help the noise that left his lips, throwing his head back, nearly smacking the wall behind. Jisung was teasing him too well. He’d come any second from all the attention. “J-jisung enough.” He composed himself shakily, swatting Jisungs hand away. 

“Baby doesn’t wanna come?” Jisung cooed, moving them better along the bed, laying Minhos head back carefully as he pulled Minhos thighs on either side of his waist, “you’re that eager?”

He was. He just wanted to get fucked. He just wanted it. Minho wasn’t sure why he’d called Jisung, but he didn’t care. He just needed release. “Yes, p-please fuck me.” Minhos eyes opened again, though half lidded. 

“Alright baby.” Jisungs voice was so low today. Minho wasn’t sure what that meant, but he didn’t care enough to dwell on it. Within seconds Jisung was tearing his hoodie off, tossing it over Minhos desk before leaning down to tug at Minhos lips again. Minho could feel Jisungs fingers searching for his entrance. He’d either rip his panties or just push them aside. Good. It’d be quick. “God,” he growled, biting into Minhos bottom lip a little harder than he was used to, “you’re so good.” 

The praise. He knew Jisung liked being praised. He did too. A lot. Despite who Jisung was, anytime he praised him he couldn’t help but find it mesmerizing. Praise was good. 

Jisungs fingers finally filled him after feeling the fabric slid away hastily, digits wiggling around inside of him. To say it didn’t hurt was an understatement, it always hurt. Jisung wasn’t good at preparing him. But Minho knew to just stay silent. The quicker jisung moved, the sooner he’d leave. Though Minho had called he still felt like this was all Jisungs control. He had no power here. 

“You really don’t touch yourself, huh?” Jisung whispered, fingers quickening as Minho clenched his eyes shut, feeling the uncomfortable stretch.

Minho just kept his eyes shut as Jisungs fingers moved inside. Soon. It’d be over soon. He regretted calling him so badly, but in a fucked up way he’d grown so used to this. This torture. He was sure he’d die without Jisung. It was sad. 

Minutes went by, Jisung whispering soft little encouragements that may have been endearing if he was anyone but himself. Minho could feel his mind faltering as Jisung replaced his fingers with his length. Minho braced for the impact, fingers curling into the sheet as Jisung leaned himself forwards, soft little sighs escaping his lips. Again — they’d be so hot if he wasn’t Jisung. If this was anyone else those sounds would fill him with joy. But no. This was Jisung. He was everything but good. 

The sound. The sound of Jisung slamming into him was never anything he’d get used to it. It always riled his stomach and he always wanted to vomit. Jisungs little moans and praises didn’t help either. Why did Minho call? 

“Minho look at me.”

He did as he was told. He let his eyes flutter opened to see the sweat-drenched man above him, breath heavy as Minho felt Jisungs fingers curl around his chin. God. If jisung wasn’t jisung. He’d be so hot right now. It was unfair how Jisung was so attractive. Unfair.

“You’re so pretty.”

He knew. He knew that. Why did jisung have to tell him every time they fucked? He knew. 

“I k-know.” Minho whispered before arching his back as Jisung finally hit his prostate. He must have been teasing him the whole time. 

“Good.” Again, his voice was so deep. Jisungs breaths were staggered as he rolled his hips, fingers moving from Minhos chin to wrap around his throat. This happened often. Minho wasn’t startled at all. Not even when his grip tightened. It was normal. 

Minho wasn’t sure when he’d finally come, his mind was fuzzy enough from Jisung choking him and smashing into his prostate over and over. But once Jisungs fingers moved to settle at Minhos chest he could see the sticky white fluid there. He felt cloudy. Tired. Like he’d pass out at any moment. 

“Look At you.” Jisungs breaths kept at their unevenness as he pulled himself out, tugging Minho up by his neck to settle upright. “Can you finish it for me, baby? I’m really lazy tonight.”

Jisung had been awfully lazy. All Minho wanted was to get fucked and have Jisung leave but he was just making it harder. Minho didn’t really want to do shit for him. 

“Sure.”

Sure. Minho was so stupid. He knew he was. As he leaned down and took the leaky length into his mouth he knew. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Eventually Minho would stop this. Eventually. 

The taste was off in a way. Like he tasted a little gross. No — a lot a bit gross. Like he was unwashed definitely, but there was something else and it made Minho want to pull off. But doing that would just delay everything. So he continued, letting his tongue wrap around the length as his teeth pressed gently into the flesh he hated so much. Yeah, he hated Jisung. Every part of him. Definitely. 

“How does Hyunjin taste?”

Suddenly Minhos chest got heavy. For a moment he continued bobbing his head, the length hitting his throat. He didn’t hear that correctly. He must’ve made it up to justify his hatred or something. 

“Minho.”

No. Shut up. He kept on, moving a hand to wrap underneath where his mouth hadn’t reached, pumping him. He’d shut up. Right?

“Baby, I asked a question.” Suddenly his head was ripped from the length, mouth dripping with the drool that had built up quickly after Jisungs startling question. “How does he taste?”

Minho didn’t follow. At first he just wanted to shake his head and get up. But doing that could result in a million different endings. None of which left him happy. 

“What d-do you mean?” Minho tensed, settling himself up comfortably despite the slight pain. 

“Seriously?” Jisung let his fingers from Minhos hair release as he moved them to curl around Minhos throat again, a serious glimmer in his eyes, “how does he taste, baby?”

“I don’t—“

The harsh slap. He figured this was one of the nicer endings, still.

“Minho, answer me.”

“I don’t know.” Minho grimaced, wanting badly to cup his cheek that jisung has slapped his hand across. But doing that would just piss him off more. 

“Does it taste good?”

Minho wanted to vomit. He shook his head slightly, eyes darting to the wall besides them. Jisung just laughed, pushing Minho back some before getting himself off of the bed, shoving Minho back until he hit the bed. It took jisung a few uncomfortably silent moments, but eventually his sticky seed coated Minhos chest. 

What the fuck. 

“I’ll see you next week. I’ll let Hyunjin know you didn’t like it.”

Minho didn’t even bother answering. As Jisung got his hoodie and buckled himself up he was out the door. Minho waited some time, letting Jisungs confusing words settle. He must’ve been sleeping with Hyunjin again. That was it, wasn’t it. He probably just finished fucking Hyunjin before coming to see Minho. That’s why he’d been so weird. Yeah. He was seeing Hyunjin. 

“Fuck…” Minho pulled himself up with a growl, leaning over his desk to pull out some tissues, wiping his chest clear. He didn’t want another shower. But what choice did he have? 

Calling Jisung was a mistake. Of course it was. As Minho lay at his couch, hair dripping and towel half-on, he couldn’t get Jisungs words out of his head. How does Hyunjin taste? It sounded so disgusting. Every time Minho had replayed it, those words just got worse and worse. Hyunjin. He missed him. Sure he did. I’m a way. But in another he was glad Hyunjin was staying away from him. Seeing Hyunjin had only hurt him. Seeing him again would destroy him. God he felt stupid. 

 

“You slept with him again?” Changbins voice was a mixture of aggressively irritated and sad. Like he was obviously upset. He didn’t want Minho near him anymore. Changbin wasn’t wrong. 

“Does it matter?” Minho sigh, rubbing his eyes as the younger lay his head back into the couch. 

Why did he invite Changbin over? Why was Minho so destructive? It was a new day and he was ruining it again. 

“It does matter. He’s hurting you. You made that clear. I know you’re scared of him but seriously, this has to stop. You said he...he hit you.” Changbin was ticked. So ticked. Why did he tell him. 

“Changbin I didn’t invite you over to fuss at me. I just wanted to tell you what was happening. I thought you’d give me actual advice but you’re just snapping at me.” 

“I’m not snapping. You’re being stupid.” Changbin rolled his eyes, leaning on his palm, “please make that the last time. Cut it off. If you need my help to do it I’m here. I’ll gladly help you.”

“I’m the one who called him.” Minho clarified, cupping his cheek with a sigh, “it was all me.”

“Why did you call me?”

“Advice—“

“Stop. Why did you call me?” Changbin snapped, eyes filled with a rage that Minho had never witnessed. “Why won’t you listen to me and leave?”

Minho paused, turning his face. He didn’t want to cry or breakdown. He didn’t want to tell Changbin the truth. That he called him because of Hyunjin. That he called him because he was jealous of his rapist fucking his other ra—his friend. Hyunjin was a friend. 

“Minho, please.” Changbins hand was at Minhos thigh. He didn’t like the feeling. Not because it was him, but just because his thighs had been so abused by peoples hands that he felt no comfort in the gentle touches anymore. 

“Jesus Christ. I’m so stupid. I’m constantly doing stupid things.” His eyes. They were leaking and he was getting pissed off. He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t. “I called him over because I wanted to get fucked and...I don’t know why I called him. I just did. It was fine. Normal. It was fine but then he…” Minho trailed off, unable to process the rest of his sentence due to his stupid sobs. He hated this. 

Changbins shoulder. It was welcoming and warm, the fingers in his hair were too. Changbin was so comfortable and safe, yet Minho still didn’t feel at ease. 

“Minho, you’re not stupid. You’re trapped.” Changbin cooed, the fingertips at his thigh massaging over his shorts comfortably now, “what did jisung do yesterday?”

He didn’t want to say it. It was stupid. He shouldn’t be so upset over Hyunjin. He shouldn’t. 

“I’m not going to yell at you. Or judge you. Min, all I want to do is help you.” 

He knew this. He did. It just...it didn’t matter? Minho knew deep down he was as fucked up as the rest of them. 

“He—“ he swallowed hard, nose feeling overwhelmed with snot as he tried his best to sniffle and calm himself, “he mentioned Hyunjin.”

Changbin didn’t seem startled. It made sense. Hyunjin and Jisung were a thing. Minho knew that. Even if jisung had said in the past they were history...he knew they weren’t. “Why?”

“He asked me…” Minho shuddered. Speaking to his childhood friend like this was so fucking nerve wracking. “He asked how he tasted.”

Changbin let out a heavy sigh from his nose, leaving tiny pecks at Minhos hair, “he just wanted to hurt you. That’s proof you need to cut him off. I know you can.”

“What if he hurts me?” Minho shouldn't have fucking said that. “After what he and Hyunjin did—what if he hurts me again. He hasn’t since that night but...what if he hurts me again? I can’t—“ 

He shouldn’t have said that. At least he didn’t mention the second time jisung attacked him. 

Changbin tightened his grip at Minhos thigh before wrapping both arms around him, a more staggered sigh leaving him. Fuck. 

“So the truth is, they hurt you. It was real. Everything they did was—“ changbin cut himself off to laugh, rubbing Minhos shoulders as he let his chin rest at Minhos hair, “Minho I’m so sorry...but this just...you have to get away from him. You need to report this.”

“I’m not reporting it!” Minho sobbed. Fuck. He sounded terrible. So terrible. “Changbin just drop it. I can’t deal with this anymore. It’s gotten better. It’s gotten to the point where it’ll be okay. I can leave. Just—I can’t report it.”

“You’re terrified of him. He hit you last night. Him bringing up Hyunjin isn’t going to make things better for you. For all we know he could just be gathering him to hurt you again!” Changbins voice was getting a little hoarse and raised. He was growling through his sentences. He was pissed. So ticked off that Minho just wanted to die. Why’d he call him? Why did he call jisung last night? Why was he so broken. 

“Please...can we please drop it.” Minho whispered before the familiar click of the door sent him into panic. 

No no no. 

Changbin tensed too, grip around him tightening as any warmth from the embrace fleeted. This was not happening. This wasn’t actually happening right now. 

“Minho?”

No no no. 

Changbins grip died, the younger now on his feet as the door shut tight. Minho didn’t even want to look. In this state he’d just piss him off. Why the fuck was he here anyways!? He said a week? It had been less than a day since he’d seen Jisung. 

“Oh, you have a guest?” Jisungs voice was...he wasn’t happy.

However, Jisungs words were stopped quickly. Changbin had left Minhos view. All Minho could hear was jisung gasping for air and the sound of bodies against the door behind him. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to at all. He was done for. He knew that much. 

“Who the fuck are you!?” Jisung sounded pained. Changbin must have really hurt him just then. The sound of fists flying was indication. He was beating the shit out of him. As nice as it should have been, Minho just felt worse and worse with every hit. God why wasn’t he doing anything? Did he secretly want this? 

He couldn’t even register the conversation the two were having as falling and breaking sounds grew behind him. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want this. Minho clasped both hands over his ears as he heard changbin cry out. They were fighting right there on his fucking floor and he was just sitting there. 

“Minho!” Jisung growled out then, snapping Minho back into some sort of focus. Fuck jisung. 

Minho pulled himself up, letting his hands slip from his ears as he turned to the scene in front of him. He didn’t expect changbin to be on top, fists smashing against Jisungs jaw like he was a toy. Honestly...Minho wanted to smile. He wanted to laugh and take it all in. Jisung being wrecked by someone instead of inflicting pain on someone else. But he couldn’t find any joy. 

“Changbin s-Stop.” He looked Jisung right in the eye as Changbin pulled himself up in a stagger, spitting blood that must’ve been from one of Jisungs punches into his face. Again, Minho wanted to laugh. But he fucking couldn’t. “Y-you should leave.”

Changbin rubbed his jaw, turning to Minho with a look that should have terrified him. “Minho, you have a chance. He can’t hurt you.” 

Minho just shook his head, getting a cough and low growl from Changbin. “Just go.”

Changbin took a moment before placing both hands at Minhos shoulders, “Minho. Let me protect you. Seriously, look at him!”

Minho did. He saw jisung roll to his side, coughing and clutching his own jaw that must’ve been hurting terribly from changbins fists. 

“Changbin, go.” Minho repeated, shaking his head to his friend whose eyes seemed to get heavy. He should have listened. 

He pulled away, crouching down to the injured male at the floor, letting his fingertips dance along Jisungs shoulder. Jisung seemed to flinch at the touch, panting heavily. Maybe he was even crying. He couldn’t really tell. 

“Minho—“

“Changbin, leave. I’m not asking again.” Minho growled back. He didn’t want him to go. Not really. But jisung. Jisung terrified him. If changbin stayed…

So he did. Changbin stepped over the injured man at the floor, making sure the door slammed into Jisungs side before shutting it tight behind him. Minho was sure he’d come back within a few hours. He wouldn’t leave Minho alone. 

“Jisung,” Minho gulped then, reaching up to lock the door before rubbing the younger man’s shoulder, “a-are you okay?”

There was a giant laugh followed by a pained moan. No he wasn’t. He was pissed. Ticked beyond belief. 

“I-I’m so sorry I didn’t k-know he’d do that. Do you need to go to the hos—“ Jisung cut him off, grabbing at Minhos wrist harshly. The wrist that hurt. The wrist that stung. Minho couldn’t help but whine as Jisung pulled himself up, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and nose. 

“Who was he?” 

Minho swallowed hard, “just a fr-friend of mine.” He hated how shaky he was. It was worse than usual. Though Jisung was a bloody mess, Minho felt anguish and fear. 

“A friend?” Jisung laughed, spitting blood onto the floor before resting his head into Minhos shoulder, “good. It’s good to have friends.”

There was no comfort in his words. There was nothing but speculation. But of course Minho wouldn't ask. He never fucking asked. 

It had been a fucking week. Usually Minho would be happy with an entire week away from Jisung, but he couldn’t shake the awful feeling that something terrible had happened. Not only had Changbin not messaged him, but Jisung hadn’t either. Jisung usually at least left a message. Or attended his shows. But he was nowhere to be found. Fuck, even Minho had messaged him two days ago just to see if he was okay. 

Minho figured Changbin was angry about being kicked out. Maybe Jisung was angry for being attacked by Minhos “friend”. It was aggravating. Why weren’t either of the boys talking to him? To say Minho was desperate was an understatement. Though for years he enjoyed being alone he felt so needy. So dependent. And sure, he’d go a week without Jisung before, but now that Changbin had contacted him he couldn’t shake the need for attention. Not even the show he’s done earlier in the night had done it for him. It had only made him feel worse. 

“Please pick up…” Minho growled, fingers desperately tapping at the picture of Jisung he set months ago. He’d called maybe fifty times by now. He’d sent nudes, sent voice messages of himself moaning, everything he could to get Jisungs attention. Was this punishment for Changbin? That wasn’t his fault. His friend was just trying to protect him. Jisung knew that, didn’t he?

“Hey.”

Fucking finally. Maybe Jisung just needed to the week from Minho. Yeah, he just wanted a break. 

“H-hi. Are you okay?” Minho didn’t know why he asked. He kind of hoped Jisung had suffered after being beaten by Changbin. He couldn’t imagine how Jisungs face looked. It looked awful when he’d seen him. Definite bruising. Maybe even a broken nose. He wasn’t sure. 

“Yup. I’m fantastic.” Jisung had clicked his tongue. He wasn’t fantastic at all, and now Minho could feel goosebumps trailing his arms. “I’m going to pick you up actually.”

Minho swallowed hard, lifting himself from the comfort of his couch to pull on his pink hoodie that rest over the arm, “a-h okay. That’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. Not really. Jisung would probably really hurt him. 

There was a click. Jisung was done talking. Not the best sign. Minho let the phone slip to the couch as he pulled himself up, sliding the pink hoodie over his head and back to the couch. If Jisung was mad he didn’t want his favorite hoodie ruined. 

Black. Black was good. If Jisung hurt him he could cover and blood. It’d just look wet. Black was a good color to put on. As Minho stood in front of his long mirror he examined himself closely. His face was so clear and pretty. And his hand didn’t look terrible. His legs were flawless too, no marks. Fuck. He just knew this would be his last view of himself before he was bruised from sex or being beaten. He wasn’t sure which Jisung would inflict. He just knew something horrible was going to happen. Without a doubt. 

He stared too long. The doorbell rang. It rang again. Why didn’t he move? It was just Jisung. It would be okay. Right?

“Minho, look at me.”

It had been an hour since he’d let Jisung into the apartment. They sat down to eat and drink some alcohol that Jisung had brought with him. It was calm. They hadn’t brought up the fight. It was...odd. 

“Minho.”

Minho let out a heavy breath as his gaze finally met Jisungs, head heavy as he let his palms rest at the table, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Jisung began, sipping from his glass. His face wasn’t as bad as it could have been. He definitely had bruising along his jaw and lower neck, but he’d covered it up with make up. And his eye was covered with a white patch that indicated it was swelled from Changbins blows. But he didn’t look so bad. He was still attractive and held that expression that confused Minho. The look of pride. 

“I didn’t know he’d do that. I...I’m so sorry.” 

“Minho, it’s fine. He was just worried about you. He probably saw the video we took together.”

Together. Sure. 

“S-sungie can I make it up to you?” Minho didn’t really want to make it up to him. And his focus wasn’t as steady as he wanted it to be. He was tired. Unfocused. He felt so small across from Jisung right now. 

“You already are, baby.” Jisung clicked his tongue again bad sign as always. He didn’t do that often. But he did it whenever he got mad and would choke Minho. He did it a lot before he became the kind Jisung. But Minho should have been focusing on what Jisung meant. 

“H-how?”

Jisung pulled up his sleeve, staring at his watch a moment, “any minute now you’ll probably pass out.”

Minho didn’t necessarily like those words. But his brain. He couldn’t focus on them. He just kept staring at Jisung with these half-lidded eyes. What did he mean? 

Oh. 

When Minho woke up he couldn’t make out where he was. It was dark still. So it was still nighttime. But he felt vibrations. Like he was in a car? A vehicle. Jisungs car? Why was he in a car…? Was Jisung going to finally kill him. Was that what was happening? 

“Morning baby.” 

It wasn’t morning. Jisung was dumb. 

“Sorry to wake you like this.” 

Like what? Unexpectedly in a moving vehicle? A moving vehicle. Where were they going. Was Minho really about to be killed. Like this? What was — 

He squinted, eyes fixating at the view ahead. He could see rocks to his right. Oh no. Where was he!? Minhos breath increased as he pulled himself upright from his ‘sleeping’ position, eyes darting wildly as he recognized the landscape. This was a fucking mountain. What the fuck was he doing at a mountain!? He knew Minho was scared of heights—

“Y-you’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” Minho didn’t mean to say it aloud. But he was tense. He was breathing erratically and Jisung was speeding along the road like a maniac. This was a fucking mountain. 

“What? No. What the fuck, Minho.” Jisung laughed, fingers tapping the wheel calmly as he kept turning harshly at every turn, anxiety rising in Minhos chest. 

“Wh-What am I doing here? When did we?” 

“I drugged you.”

Why was he so calm? What the fuck was so calm about drugging someone? What the fuck was he saying right now?

“Eh, before you freak out,” Jisung started, slapping Minhos thigh suddenly, “I only did it to keep you from freaking out. I wanted to surprise you but I knew I couldn’t get you to come up here without that.”

Jisung was a fucking maniac. Minho was terrified of him, he’d do anything Jisung asked. He didn’t need to drug Minho. Even for this. Jisung was so fucking crazy. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You. You drugged me?” Minho spat, settling into his chair despite his chest still rising too fast and breaths not calming at all. “Wh-Why would you do that? I wouldn’t say n-no.” Minho closed his eyes tightly as he rest his head back. What the fuck. Was this. What the fuck. 

“I just wanted to show you something. I’ve been a dick to you lately. I wanted to make up for hitting you—you know I’m not like that anymore, baby.” Jisung cooed, pouting as if he actually gave a shit about Minhos well being. “I wanted to show you something beautiful.”

Minho couldn’t focus. He kept his eyes shut, hand moving over to cup Jisungs hand at his thigh to give a harsh grab. He didn’t mean to make Jisung curse out besides him, but he was terrified. They were trekking the fucking mountains at night. Who knew how high they were. 

“Min, I love you, okay? This is a good thing.”

Finally the car stopped. After maybe a half hour of shitty American alternative music and jisung reassuring Minho every ten minutes, they were wherever they were supposed to be. 

“Jisung...why did you bri-being me here.” Minho was shaky, even more so as Jisung pulled his hand from Minhos thigh. 

“I wanted to show you something important to me.” The younger whispered, slipping out of the car to open Minhos door, helping the shaky male out of the car. 

It was too dark to see. He was going to die, wasn’t he? He could feel his tears rising and his anxiety along with them. He wanted to break down. Panic. He wanted to run away. But he was so shaky. He could feel his ears pop as jisung led him into the dark, sound of his feet dragging behind. 

“Min, I got you. It’s okay. I got you.” Jisungs voice was soothing. But then it wasn’t. This was Jisung. He was bad. He was bad. 

Jisung kept repeating his name and telling him it was okay. The further they were from the car the worse Minho felt. He was crying now. Definitely. He wasn’t full on sobbing yet, but he felt terrible. He could feel himself shutting down. He wanted to explode. 

“Minho, it’s okay.” Suddenly they stopped. Minho could feel his heart race as his tears streamed down his freezing cheeks. Fuck, it was so cold, all he had was this hoodie. He was so cold. “I’m right here.” Jisung thought that was comforting? What the fuck. 

Shakily, Minho managed to peer his eyes opened. Jisung was looking at him with soft eyes, fingers soothingly making their way into Minhos hair, “I want to show you something beautiful.”

Beautiful. Was it Minhos death? Right now he just wanted to leave. 

“You’re so pretty.” 

Stop. Stop. Stop. 

“Like, you know that. I know. But Minho...there’s nothing as beautiful as you.”

He hated this. He felt himself choking as jisung stared at him. He must have known Minho was terrified. The elevation was making this so much worse. 

“Baby, I’m going to turn you towards it, okay?” Jisung was probably about to turn Minho to face the edge of a cliff. He could feel the ground behind him dip slightly. He was about to die. 

“Jisung...please don’t.”

“Its okay. You’ll find it beautiful, too.”

No. He wasn’t. He was going to die. He was going to die. He wasn’t strong enough right now to fight Jisung. He was still drugged out and weak. And he was too terrified to try. 

As Jisung gripped Minhos shoulders and spun him he felt his heart drop. It wasn’t a cliff. It wasn’t a cliff at all. It was okay. It was just a slight dip into the woods. A slight dip. Minho could see it with the dim light of the stars. Just a dip. A dip. 

“Look there.” Jisung whispered behind him, face so close as his index pointed between trees. 

It was hard to make out, but Minho could see the beautiful thing Jisung was talking about. Flowers. Lots of little pink flowers wrapped around one of the trees. It didn’t look real. The way the pink flowers seemed to glow amongst the dark tree. The flowers seemed so unreal. There’s no way they’d grown there naturally. 

“Recognize them?” Jisung asked, hands slipping from Minhos shoulders to wrap around his waist. It was a little warming. It was fucking cold up here. 

“I…” did he? Maybe. It was hard to tell but they looked familiar. Maybe like...oh. “Your tattoo.” 

His tattoo. The tattoo that wrapped around his hip and side. The pink flowers. How could he forget? 

“They’re my favorite. They don’t grow around here. Not even in the country.” The younger sigh, resting his chin into Minhos shoulder, “I wanted to show you.”

Why?

“They’re so pretty.” Minho sobbed, leaning against Jisung for warmth only. “W-why did you show me?”

“I thought it would be nice.”

Nice? He brought him all the way up to his greatest fear to see some flowers? 

“I have something else, too. But we have to go down this little hill to get there. Do you trust me?” No. 

“Yes.”

He was stupid. As soon as the word left his mouth, Jisung was leading him down the steep hill, taking the lead as he held onto Minhos hand tightly. Almost too tightly. This felt so wrong. Uneasiness was sweeping over Minho. He wasn’t sure how to feel about any of this. 

“Baby, I’ve never shown anyone before. Well—“ Jisung kind of cackled. Like it was eerily funny to him, “I’ve shown Hyunjin.”

Minho couldn’t help the slight growl as he tugged himself back, wiping at his frozen tears at his eyes, “Jisung, this isn’t f-funny. Stop talking about him.” Don’t defy him. Stop. 

“I know it’s not. Come on.” Jisung wasn’t offended for some reason. He just held his hand tight, eyes slanting slightly to emphasize the lack of patience he had with minho. He was terrifying. 

He didn’t have a choice. He took a deep breath, following Jisung down the snowy slope. It was still so dark. It was too dark. How could jisung make anything out? 

“Hey baby can you get in front of me?” Minho felt his bones shiver. “It’ll be easier to guide.”

Would it be? Minho let out a little whine before stepping ahead of Jisung, folding into himself as the man grabbed his shoulders, pushing him ahead. The only comfort should have been Jisungs chest against his back. At least he was close, but it didn’t help. Nothing was helping. Minho got the awful feeling inside that he was about to be shoved off a mountain. To his death. By Jisungs hands. He was going to die. 

“Remember what I asked you the other day?”

Minho couldn’t focus. He was shivering from not only fear, but of the cold. It was freezing. It only got colder as they’d walked. How far were they from the car? Minho was so cold. So cold. 

“Minho.”

“I-I don’t remember.”

Jisung could have meant anything. Minho couldn’t possibly pinpoint what the hell Jisung was talking about. 

“I said,” Jisung pauses, gripping Minhos shoulders tightly. They'd stopped so close to the pink flowers. Minho could hear his breaths increase as Jisungs nails dug into his arms, “how does Hyunjin taste?”

Maybe he should have expected this. Being shoved harshly off the cliff. To his death. He should have expected this. He pissed Jisung off the other day with Changbin being there. He was ticked. He was going to kill him. Send him to hell where he belonged. Jisung was killing him.

No. Death would have been heaven compared to this. Compared to this, Minho would jump off the cliff himself. 

The painful knotting in his ankle was barely noticeable as his eyes adjusted to the hard object he’d fallen onto. He wasn’t dead. He was just in a hole. No. Not a hole. A grave. He was in a grave. 

A grave. 

He was in a fucking shallow grave. 

Minho screamed, the fear overtaking his senses as he pulled himself up the best he could, panicking at the awkward figure beneath him covered in a thin layer of snow. It. No. 

Jisung was laughing maniacally. Like he’s done something great. And evil. And he had. He fucking had. 

Hyunjin. 

It was dark and it was too hard to see. But he knew. He knew as soon as he moved himself back and brushed along crumpled fingers. Bones maybe. Boney fingers. A ring. Hyunjins fingers.Hyunjins ring. There was no doubt. The Hyunjin joke. It had gone too far. This wasn’t a game. This wasn’t funny. Minho wanted to leave. 

He vomited. His head spun and he vomited, trying his best to keep the corpse beneath him from facing the blow. Not that it mattered. It was a corpse. A corpse. Not just a corpse. A beautiful one. Hyunjins. It had to be.

As Minho pulled himself up from the dirt he could see the pale sweater covered in blood and...who knew at this point. It was more than snow. It was horrific. It was Hyunjin. The sweater. He knew that sweater. He knew. That's the sweater Hyunjin wore that day in the supermarket. That sweater. Oh god.

“Like it? Hyunjin wasn’t a big fan when I showed him this place either. Well, I think he wasn’t. He wasn’t breathing when we got here.”

This was a nightmare. Completely fabricated in Minhos mind. This wasn’t happening. Minho wasn’t sitting over Hyunjins dead body. No. This was a prank. They were going to hurt him again, weren’t they? He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t. No way. He wasn’t. 

The sound of something dropping down into the shallow hole behind caused Minho to whisper in defeat. Make it stop. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t real. It’s not real. 

“Baby,” Jisung cooed, grabbing Minho roughly by the hair. But he couldn’t focus. His eyes were glued to the crumpled face of the beautiful boy he once knew as Hyunjin. He lay there in tatters, lower half exposed as if Jisung had—no. He wasn’t going to go there. Minho wanted to run. He wanted to vomit and scream and. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to tear Jisungs head off of his body. To rip him apart. To kill—

“Minho, you’re so fucking pretty.” Minho tensed up more as Jisung gripped his hoodie from behind. no no no. Minho was crying. He had tears streaming down his face. His breath was wild. His vision too blurry. This wasn’t happening. 

“J-jisung I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry about.” He choked, struggling to keep himself off of the frozen corpse below, eyes shut tightly. He couldn’t. If he didn’t look it wasn’t real. None of this was real. 

“About what?” Jisung cooed, breath warming the side of his face as Minho was roughly shoved into the corpse. The smell. Everything about this was rancid. And painful. He wanted to scream but his lungs wouldn’t allow it. As Minho felt the uncomfortable stiffness at his face he couldn’t even bare to scream. Eyes closed. Don’t open them. 

“I asked you a question,” Jisungs voice was harsh. He was harsh. Disgusting. This was disgusting. This wasn’t a joke. Hyunjin was dead. He was dead underneath of Minhos weight. It was unmistakably him. And jisung. Jisung must have killed him. This was real. 

“Minho!”

Minho managed a scream now, but only because Jisung pulled him by the hair and slammed his face down into the cracking corpses torso, the disgusting crunching of Hyunjins clavicle filling his ears. This was revolting. This was not happening. Not to him. 

Maybe Minho was bleeding from his nose now. He wasn’t sure. It was freezing and Jisung was holding his face inches from the corpse. His eyes were sewn shut and everything started to sting. His sobs were embarrassingly loud, but he knew nobody would hear. They were in the mountains in freezing temperatures. And to make things even worse, Minho could feel snow melting against his knuckles. Knuckles that were clenched into the dirt besides Hyunjins frostbitten ear. 

“F-for everything.” Minho managed. He was shaking, nearly convulsing from the pain in his face mixed with the unreal temperature, and Hyunjin. Hyunjin was making everything so much worse. Minho knew he was next. That’s why Hyunjin hadn’t called. He’d been dead. Dead in the snowy mountains in a shallow grave. Dead. 

“Awh, don’t be sorry.” Minho winced as Jisung forced his face back against Hyunjin, giving him a hard stomp down into his back. Wow. Minho wasn’t sure he’d ever felt greater pain. And he’d had his fingers snapped by this man. But wow, the feeling of losing air from a single foot to the back was too much. Minho was choking, unable to even move. 

It got silent a moment. All Minho could really make out were his own pathetic sobs as he forced his eyes opened, fixating in his hand that clenched in the dirt besides Hyunjins head. The snow was thick. So thick. Maybe Minho would freeze to death instead. He didn’t even care anymore. Hyunjin. Hyunjin was dead. Right underneath of him. He’d been dead for—oh god how long had he been dead?

After too much silence Minho managed to roll himself over, snow falling against his eyelashes and cheeks. He could feel the snot and drool running down his face. It was disgusting. This whole ordeal was disgusting. 

Jisung wasn’t coming? Was he? Minho didn’t know. All he knew was that once he’d recovered his breaths he needed to get out of here. It took him a second to garner his strength, but soon he was sitting himself up, back pained by Jisungs unexplainable force. He took a deep breath before gripping the dirt outside of the hole, forcing himself to his feet. He could do this. He could get out of here. He could get to the car if Jisung hasn’t. He could drive away. He could—

Minho wasn’t lucky. He wasn’t at all. 

He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to this. To Jisung breaking his hand. At least he chose the bad hand. The hand that was already bandaged beyond belief. 

A hammer. Jisung had grabbed a long hammer, and smashed it down against Minhos hand. 

It hurt. His hand really hurt. But it wasn’t enough to get Minho to stop. He knew he had nerve damage for sure. He remained unbothered as he pulled himself from the hole, breaths jagged. His eyes wouldn’t adjust. He wasn’t sure where Jisung was. He’d smashed his hand and ran off? He didn’t know. He was seeing stars. 

Nope. Jisung was right there. In front of him. Minho? Minho went right back into the hole, falling backwards into the corpse below. The sound of crunching and cracking only made Minhos head spin more. This wasn’t happening. None of this was happening. It couldn’t. 

“Wow, your hands that fucked?” Jisung was back in the hole, pinning Minho down with force that Minho wouldn’t even attempt to fight. Jisung was stronger. He was stronger and more confident. He’d kill Minho. This was it. “This isn’t very fulfilling.” Jisung shook his head, seeming to make sure Minho could see his face. He was so close now. Maybe Minhos eyes could adjust now. Yeah, that’s what it was. 

“P-please don’t.” Why did he speak?

“Please don’t what? Kill you?” Jisung laughed, scooting himself onto Minhos lap. And wow, the sounds Hyunjins corpse made under him were making him panic. His chest was rising and falling too quickly. He was sobbing too loudly. He was so cold. He wanted this to stop. 

“Please, Jisung…”

“Shut up.” 

This time it hurt. It hurt so badly that Minhos screams could have caused an avalanche. Someone had to hear. His voice had to carry this time. This was far worse than before. Worse than the video. Worse than being drunk and broken. Worse than anything he’d ever felt. 

Minho had never really thought about what a hammer felt like to the thumb. He knew his uncle worked in carpentry. He always smashed his fingers. But this. He was sure his uncle had never faced this. Had anyone? Surely someone was alive to share this experience. There had to be. 

Again and again. God. What did Minhos hand look like at this point? Jisung was smashing the hammer wildly. Like some fucking animal. Minho could see the traces of thick blood splatter across the white snow in his view as Jisung destroyed his hand. His good hand. Was his good hand. 

“Jesus Christ, shut up. You’re so fucking whiny!” Jisung laughed. He was laughing a lot. So much that Minho was glad he couldn’t see. His eyes were glued to the gruesome sight of his blood covered sleeve. He didn’t want to see his hand, but he did. Fuck, he couldn’t even feel his hand anymore. It was almost as if Jisung had ripped it off of him. He must have. He couldn’t feel it. 

“Ah, look at this mess.” A light. A bright light filled Minhos eyes, he couldn’t help but turn his face to Jisung to avoid the brightness, pain shooting up his arm as he moved. He screamed again, and at this point his hearing was faltering. And his vision. It was blurring. Everything hurt. And spun. It all spun. Maybe the light was god or something. Maybe they were saving him from this horror. 

Time. Minho felt time pass. Maybe. Maybe it was time. He didn’t know. He could feel nothing. See nothing. Was he dead? After taking a hammer at full force to his hand, maybe. Maybe he died of shock. Maybe he died of—he didn’t care. Death sounded alright. Free. It was okay if he was dead. 

He wasn’t dead. He wished he was. He wished Jisung had smashed the rest of him. 

Squelching and heavy breaths. Maybe it was an illusion. Maybe jisung hadn’t taken him to the mountains. Maybe they were at home in Minhos bed. Minho had a nightmare, Yeah. Of course. Just a bad dream. Yes. 

No. Yes. 

No. 

This was real. Minhos eyes fluttered opened again, he was face down, cheeks freezing cold along with the rest of him as hair clogged his vision. Hyunjins hair. Yeah. This was real. 

“Wakey wakey~” Jisungs voice purred, hands dug into Minhos hips. 

He wasn’t. This wasn’t. No. 

“I’m surprised you’re alive.”

Minho wasn’t alive. Jisung had killed him months ago. He’d ripped his soul and eaten it alive. Minho was as dead as Hyunjin was. Lifeless. A doll. A toy. He wasn’t alive. Not anymore. No way. 

Minho could feel the slight stinging from behind, Jisung letting out a long moan. This was unreal. This was so sick. This was. Minho shuddered, letting his eyes fall shut as the hand that was in way better shape curled up to his face, digits hovering over his cheek. He couldn’t even feel his cheek. Or his fingers. Or his toes. He couldn’t feel his nose, either. Was it frostbite? How long had he been out here? 

“God, I should have fucked you while you were like this more often. It was so much like Hyunjin. You were so lifeless!” Was this fun for Jisung? Of course it was. He was vile. He was so vile. Minho knew he was being fucked over this corpse the moment he came to, but hearing it made things so much worse. Mainly because Minho couldn’t even register it until jisung opened his big mouth. All the pain from the pressure inside of him was starting to overwhelm him. 

Honestly though, the only pain Minho felt was in his wrists. They stung so badly. He couldn’t imagine how long Jisung had been...how long he’d been doing that to him back there. He didn’t know. And honestly, he didn’t care. He needed to die. He needed this to just stop. He was losing it. Losing his mind. 

“You missed the fun. I was filming you earlier but….Hyunjins face caved in by the way,” Jisungs tone was so light. Minho could feel Jisungs fingers wrapping into his hair again, “it’s not pretty anymore.” 

Why did he do this? As jisung ripped Minhos face up he could see clearly. Hyunjins frozen face really was caved in. Though Minho wasn’t sure if Jisung had taken his hammer to it again or what. 

“You did that.” Jisung whispered, heavy fucked-out breaths at Minhos ear again, “I smashed your pretty face into his. I didn’t think you’d still be so beautiful after.”

Sick. Sick. Sick. Minho was sick. Minho wanted to vomit. If he could wrap his head around what Jisung was truly doing he would. But he couldn’t focus. The pain at his wrists was too much. He could feel himself crying again, tears stinging. Oh god. How bad was his face? Jisung said he was still pretty but—no way. His face stung. He had cuts and bruises for sure. And he still couldn’t feel the tip of nose. Was it? Probably. It probably was. 

“Alright. Come on, baby.” Jisungs voice was low. It was pleasant. It was sexy. It wasn’t supposed to be all of these things. But Minho couldn’t get passed Hyunjins face. He couldn’t get passed his own pain. Jisung was...oh god he hated him. 

Minho let out a chorus of pained whimpers as Jisung pulled him by his armpits out of the shallow grave, the soft snow filling around his face as Jisung dropped him into the ground. Thankfully he felt cloth being pulled around his hips. Cool. At least he did that much for Minho. This was the most comfort he’d gotten. The plush snow around his battered face was good too. It was nice. The snow was deep. He wouldn’t mind dying like this. It would be okay. He’d be okay. 

“Minho, snap out of it.” Jisung was snapping his fingers before Minho, but he could barely register them. There was light peaking through. He could see his fingers, yeah. But he couldn’t really hear them snapping. He couldn’t. 

“Ah, okay. I know what’ll cheer you up.” 

This was nice. Jisung leaving his view. He could see the trees above now. They were tall. And it must’ve been close to dawn. It was beautiful. The purple lines in the sky. It was so nice. The faint orange peaking through the dark clouds. Beautiful. So so so beautiful. 

Suddenly the beauty left as Jisung sat him upright, dragging him back until he was against a tree. It was okay though. Better view of the sunrise. He could see it in the distance. 

“So, you really hurt me.” Jisung settled in front of him now, blood splattered across his face visible now. He looked wild. How did he have so much blood on him? Was Minho...what did Jisung do to him? 

“Sorry.” Minho whispered, head lolling to the side as his eyes struggled to focus. Slowly the pain was subsiding. However it was only being replaced by rage. Because Jisung was covering his view. 

“First, you took my color.” 

Jisung was crazy. 

“You took yellow. That’s my color. Only I can be yellow. You hear me?” A slap to the face and Minho had his eyes wider, staring right into Jisungs own. 

The man before him laughed again, reaching out to brush warmer fingers across Minhos cheeks. It felt nice. It was so nice. The contrast. He felt warm. So warm. 

“You know who else is kinda yellow? Your friend.”

Suddenly Minho was wide awake. Forget the pain. He rose his head, eyes as wide as he could get them. Jisung seemed to be pleased by that, wicked smile crossing his features. He looked scary. Scarier than ever. 

“Changbin, right? He got me real good,” Jisung scoffed, patting his cheek that seemed more swollen than usual. Minho hadn’t noticed too much earlier but...it was awful. And purple. Jisung didn’t look cute at all right now. 

“W-where is he?” Minhos voice. Holy shit was it hoarse. 

“Ah, in due time baby. You’re freezing.” Jisung sighed, sliding his coat off to slip it over Minhos torso. 

Why was Jisung coddling him again? Minho was probably going to die. He knew that, right? Both is his hands were shakily unusable. His ankle felt a bit sore. Probably twisted somehow. His head throbbed. He was sure when jisung stomped on his back he must’ve injured his rib, and he definitely knew his nose was broken. But maybe he was beyond feeling. The only pain was in his chest and wrists. 

“Awh, let's get you to the car okay? We’ll visit Hyunjin later.”

Did he think he was being cute? Minho winced as Jisung pulled Minho into his arms, cradling him to his chest. Minho really was a lifeless doll, wasn’t he? He was Jisungs fucking toy. 

“S-sungie,” Why was he calling him that? “Are you going to kill me?” His teeth chattered together ruthlessly as Jisung struggled up the hill, gripping Minho tightly as if he was precious. But Minho knew he wasn’t precious to Jisung at all. No way. 

“I thought you were dead earlier, to be honest,” minho swallowed hard, burying his face into Jisungs neck for warmth, “but I’m glad you’re not. I have to show you something first.”

Show him what? What else could Jisung do to him? He mentioned Changbin earlier. Did he hurt him? Were they about to hurt him? He couldn’t. He wouldn’t allow that. Not at all. 

“Don’t…don’t hurt him.”

“Sorry I couldn’t hear you over your stupid stuttering, repeat?” 

Minho knew Jisung heard. He had to have. 

“Why do you hate me?” Of all things. Minho asked this? Why? 

“I don’t hate you,” Jisung spat, lowering Minhos legs to the ground. Jisung was joking if he thought Minho could stand right now. As Jisung let him go he leaned into the rail, pain shooting up his legs as he wrapped his arms in Jisungs jacket, wincing at the unbelievable sensation. Everything stung so bad. Was he coming to? No. He wanted to die. He didn’t want to feel. 

“So why!?” Minho choked out then, trying to keep himself against Jisungs car, drool and sweat pounding down his cheeks along with...maybe blood too. He didn’t know anymore. 

“I told you,” Jisung cooed, slipping himself towards the trunk, “you’re yellow. So is he.” 

No no no. 

“You’re both so fucking innocent despite all of this. It pisses me off.” Jisung growled before giggling as the trunk popped open. 

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. 

A thousand thoughts. A thousand horrific thoughts ran through his mind as Jisung stepped back into view. 

It was as if Minho was watching a slasher fic. Except the characters were him. And Hyunjin. And now, Changbin too. Minho couldn’t help the strained sound that escaped his lips. Nor the vomit. This felt fake. This wasn’t real. 

“I did it while you were passed out.” Jisung cackled, swinging the bloodied object in his hand, fingers curled through black messy locks. No. No. No. “Filmed everything. I left you and...he was alive you know? While we came here. He was breathing the entire time while I drove.”

No. 

Jisung turned the object to face him, hands moving to clasp either side of its...cheeks. “He screamed so loud when I opened that trunk. He cursed and yelled so loud.”

No. No. 

“He...he was so mad. But even as I dragged my knife across his stubborn throat, he only thought of you baby.”

Minho vomited again as Jisung turned the object—Changbins head, pressing a proud kiss to his cheek.

No. No. No. This wasn’t real. Everything up until now, sure. He’d take it. He’d go home and just let it go. Because that’s how fucked up he was. But this? No. No. 

“W-wha—no. No.”

“What are you sputtering about? Yes yes yes. It’s your little friend. Come say hi.” Jisung smirked, tapping the side of changbins bloodied cheek. 

Minhos mouth was opened so wide he felt like he’d rip apart. His eyes were focused on the head before whim, blood trickling down his jagged neck and eyes rolled but still opened. It was terrible. This was terrible. This was a joke. This was a prank. Jisung was just mad at Minho for having a friend. He didn’t. He didn’t kill Changbin. He didn’t. 

“As I uh...cut him apart, all he screamed was your name. I told him I left you in a hole and I’d enjoy you later.” Jisung paused, raising a brow, “which I did. He didn’t like that. Even though he was bound he put up quite the fight. Way more than you ever have.”

Jisung was a monster. Minho couldn’t breathe. He could feel his legs give way. He was on the ground, choking on air. This wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. 

“Awh, I’m sorry.” 

The sound. The sound of something rolling. This was sick. Twisted. Demented. Awful. Minho wasn’t living in a real world. He must’ve been in hell or something. 

His insides churned again. He was on all fours, though quickly dropping to his elbows as the pain shot into him. His hands. Oh god. His hands were totaled. One had flesh and blood hanging. The other, the one that Jisung had previously destroyed, was just bruised and swelled. But oh fucking god. The way flesh hung. Oh no. And his pinky. Where was it?

He vomited again, not even caring that the disgusting splash was coating his jacket. He was covered in all sorts of fucking fluids anyways. At this point the vomit was the most pleasant. 

“Baby, don’t panic.”

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. 

“I’ll keep changbins body for you. I know how much you must’ve wanted it after all.”

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. 

“Better yet we can fuck him together. While he’s all fresh and pretty.”

This was a joke. This was. A joke. 

Minho was on his feet again, Jisung rubbing at his shoulders and cooing as if he were trying to soothe a child. 

“Baby, we can even put him in your next show. Call it necro—“

He didn’t let Jisung finish. For the first time in Minhos life, he cut someone off. He tackled Jisung to the ground, using the hand less damaged to smash down into his face. 

But of course Jisung was stronger. Minho was soon on his stomach, face in the dirt as Jisung wrapped an arm around his throat. 

This was so unfair. Nothing about this was fair. This was cruel. This was vile. If there was any god, Minho hated them. Fuck them. 

“Fuck, seriously?” Jisung laughed, tightening his grip before dragging minho back with ease, shoving him hard into the snow as his knee pressed into Minhos back. 

He’d kill him. For sure. He knew this. He was going to die. 

“I bet your moms real proud of her little slutty son. When you’re dead you’re going to get fucked by everyone!” This wasn’t happening. 

Minho wiggled wildly underneath, trying to shove Jisung off. Don’t bring up mom. Don’t bring her up. Don’t do that. 

“Oh, hit another nerve? Maybe I’ll have to kill her too. Add to my list.” 

Minho couldn’t take this. He couldn’t. He whirled around, smashing his elbow into Jisungs face. And he let go. Jisung let go and Minho fell backwards, holding himself up with his sore elbows. 

As Jisung coughed and collected himself, Minho panicked, eyes around wildly looking for some sort of savior. But there was nothing. It was just him and the wild wolf before him, ready to tear him to shreds. 

“Oh I’m definitely going to fucking kill her now. All you fucking yellows,” Jisung laughed before lunging towards him. Minho backed himself up some, panic rising in his chest. He only had his legs. His legs. He kicked. He just kicked.

It happened so fast. Too fast to be real.

Jisung was there in front of him moments ago. And then he wasn’t. 

Jisung had disappeared. He was gone. He. 

Minho let out shallow breaths, forcing himself up off of the ground. His ankle hurt so badly now. He’d definitely twisted it earlier. But after...after what he’d just done, did it even matter? He peered over the rail that Jisung had disappeared from, Hands shaky. “Ha…”

He laughed. He laughed. Why was he laughing? Why was he laughing so happily as he stared over the rail. He had vomit and drool running down his chin and tears down his freezing cheeks. Why was he laughing? Why was this so funny? Jisungs body at the rocks below. It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t funny at all, was it? 

Minho pulled himself back before falling backwards, head at the plush snow again as his arms outstretched painfully. 

Haha. 

It was funny in a way. For sure. It was so funny. This whole thing was so silly. Minho couldn’t help but continue to laugh, giggles filling the air as his breaths grew more and more shallow. Yeah, funny. Jisung couldn’t hurt his mom anymore. That was hilarious. For once Jisung couldn’t hurt someone. 

Minho let his eyes close, smile wide across his face. This was real. It was very real. Everything had been so real. So vivid. Hyunjins corpse in the grave. Changbins bloody decapitated head. Jisung stumbling backwards over the railing after Minho barely fucking kicked him. Truly comedic. 

“Yellow? Fuck off.” Minho laughed, eyes peeling opened once more. 

The sun. It was going to be yellow and bright soon. Maybe that’s what Jisung meant by yellow. Sunshine. Jisung must’ve hated sunshine. He wasn’t yellow. Hyunjin, Maybe. Changbin, definitely. Minho and his mother? Sure. Jisung...no. He was a color that didn’t exist. A color that couldn’t be defined. No color deserved to be thrown into Jisungs category. 

Yellow. Yellow was a funny color for sure. 

———————-

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so sorry? Minho didn’t deserve any of this but it’s the ‘end’. His hands might be totaled but he’s okay. He’ll be okay. It’s over. I hate to thank people for reading this but thank you for reading. I apologize for how things turned out in the end. In a way it’s a good ending, sort of.
> 
>  
> 
> Twt: minhodipitous  
> Cc: str4y


End file.
